Steal Me (Haunted Roads Book 1)

by India R. Adams

  I was watching Lilah stand by the river’s edge, staring into the water, when Viola joined me. From afar, Delilah looked solemn and entranced by the running water. “V, was he bad?”

  Viola was such a great, intuitive observer and knew I was speaking of Kenny. She stood there, watching her friend. She softly answered, “At times,” then walked away. I realized she knew more than she wished to share.

  Watching the moonlight shine off Lilah and the water, I thought about the past year and how hard it had been for us both. I didn’t want Delilah to be alone as everyone started shouting, “Get ready for the countdown!” So I went to her and wrapped my arms around her from behind. “I love you.”

  As if it were a knee-jerk reaction, Lilah spun and clung to me. I held her to me, trying to soothe her, wondering what memory had her so spooked. Hiding in my chest, she said, “That love you speak of, it—” She stopped talking.

  “It what?” I softly asked, but then everyone started yelling in the background. “Ten! Nine!”

  Instead of answering me, Lilah looked up and whispered, “I need you to steal me away again,” and then looked at my mouth.

  My hands grasped her face as I sucked her lips to mine in a rush. I would always steal her away from any memory trying to take her from me. I’d fight for her in any way, shape, or form. If a kiss was my weapon of the night, so be it. People were screaming “Happy New Year” as I crossed the time barrier, doing one of my most favorite things. Kissing Delilah.

  We didn’t need a designated driver on New Year’s Eve. Delilah and I had chosen not to drink that night to show support for my mom leaving pills behind. If she could be brave, entering a new year of challenges sober, so could we.

  As I drove her home, Delilah nervously said, “Maverick… I was wondering if you… if you could—” She stopped talking and looked out the passenger-side window.

  When she didn’t resume talking, I asked, “If I could do what?”

  She shook her head with determination. “Nothing. Never mind.” Her cheeks looked rosy.

  Lilah is blushing. Oh…

  “Delilah, are you asking about… pleasure kind of stuff?”

  At that point, she had her face buried in her palms.

  Yep! I reached for those delicate hands, but she pulled away. “Lilah, look at me.”

  Two fingers split to peek out at me.

  “Why so shy about an orgasm?”

  The fingers shut, hiding her again. “Because… only one. Remember?”

  “Delilah, you haven’t masturbated yet?”

  A muffled voice shyly said, “Don’t know how. Do you?”

  “Masturbate? Hell yeah! I do it all the time!”

  She smacked me, covering her face with her free hand. “No. You know, on me. Do… you know… how… I should?”

  I told her truthfully, “God, I love you.”

  Delilah’s body started to relax with my words. “Why?”

  “Do you know what it does for a young man’s ego to have a young, beautiful woman come to him about this?”

  She bashfully shook her head.

  “Let me tell you, Lilah: wonders. It does wonders for me that you would trust me this much.”

  I eyed her easy-access short skirt and turned down a dirt road with a certain destination in mind. Somewhere that would be completely isolated from other people “Where are we going?” Lilah asked.

  “The train, baby.”

  I parked my truck in a field along the railroad tracks and grabbed a blanket. “Come on.”

  After leading her to the bed of my truck, I lifted her up to sit on the tailgate and crawled in behind her. With my back resting against the cab, below my rear window, I patted the place between my legs, motioning for her to sit. She cautiously crawled to me and sat with her back to my chest. I covered us with a blanket and asked her to lean her head back so I could kiss her.

  Delilah’s kiss was warm and inviting. Her tongue had a way of getting me so baffled that I got lost in her. We were already struggling for breath when I whispered, “Open your legs.”

  She gasped with embarrassment, so I kissed her some more, hoping to get her lost in me. Her tense muscles began to ease in my arms, and then the gods sang to me as Lilah’s thighs opened. I had to suppress a guttural groan. Trying not to show how anxious I was to get started with the awesome, unexpected night, my hands slowly slid down the outsides of her thighs and proceeded to pull her skirt up.

  Still kissing me, Lilah began to pant into my mouth. With her sweet breath bathing me, my dick began to nudge her back. It took everything I had not to rock my hips into her backside.

  This is about Delilah, you selfish bastard!

  My fingers shook with need as they found their way to the inside of Lilah’s thighs then eventually to her core. I couldn’t stifle my groan when I found her wet and wanting. I actually bit her shoulder as my groin insisted on stretching forward, driving me into a frenzy. Delilah’s head fell to the side, giving me more access to the shoulder I was nibbling on.

  Pulling her panties to the side, I slid a finger inside her wetness. When she moaned and rolled her head, I began panting, completely aroused for the hungry goddess in my lap. Once I had an iota of self-control again, my other hand gently took a hold of one of hers and guided it to meet the hand that was already touching her perfection.

  “I—I’m not sure,” she whimpered.

  I spoke in her ear, “It’s just you and me. Private. A special moment for only us.”

  She closed her eyes, leaned her head back, and moaned as I slid another finger inside of her. When I felt I had her right where she mentally needed to be, I slipped her hand under mine. My fingers guided her fingertips to her hardened nub, the place she had yet to touch on her own for pleasure. Quietly, I said, “Right here. This is where you are most sensitive.” I rubbed her fingertips over her clit. “Feel that? How it’s beginning to ache?”

  Lilah sounded so intense with pleasure as she moaned, “Yes.”

  Hoping she could understand me even though I was panting uncontrollably, I kept speaking into to her ear. “You can be soft like this.” I gave her an example with our fingers. “Or stronger and faster like this.” I sped our fingers up.

  Her breathing was racing by the time the train’s light began to shine, off in the distance. It was heading toward us, racing down the track.“Maverick—”

  The blanket sheltered and hid our utterly erotic moment. My fingers picked up speed to hold her attention. “Don’t stop. No one can see. You’re free, Lilah… be free.”

  Those words touched deeper than my fingers could. Delilah dreamed of being free, and I was offering the seductive moment on a silver platter. Her fingers began to move as she watched the train approach. Her body tensed and started jolting with little tremors the closer she came to coming.

  The train was rumbling and vibrating the truck as all the cars passed by. I said, “You’re free, Lilah. Let go… come in my arms. Get as loud as you want.”

  Her shoulders rose and fell in her excited state. Delilah’s fingers found a life of their own, so I let her go. I gasped for air as I heavily kissed and licked her ear and neck during one of the hottest moments of my life. Delilah was bringing herself pleasure, and I was getting to experience it with her. My hands softly caressed the breasts of the beauty in my arms. I had so much appreciation for her trust in me.

  The train roared as Delilah screamed my name.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Due to living in such a small town, I had to drive to another city for our group-therapy sessions. Jaz was helping me so much with Bailey that I put her on the payroll. She fought it, saying, “That’s what friends are for!” But I felt it best to keep the waters under the bridge clear. Never did I want a friend to think I’d taken advantage.

  Mr. Ward thought it would be a good idea for Lilah to attend the meetings also. However, she didn’t agree. “I don’t need counseling!” she yelled at her father and brother.

  Standing in their
kitchen, they both looked at me as though silently asking me to help them. Apparently, this had been an ongoing debate. I explained, “Delilah has to want to heal before—”

  Delilah threw her hands in the air. “Oh, great! You agree with them?”

  “Lilah, will you hear me out?”

  She crossed her arms defensively but nodded.

  “I’m at a time in my life where I need to learn how to cope with my pain. I personally need help. If you don’t think you do, then by all means, don’t go to counseling.”

  She yelled, “But you’re not saying I don’t need it!” Then she stormed out of the kitchen.

  I wasn’t saying she didn’t need counseling because I didn’t believe it. Never would I lie to her. Tucker said, “I’m sorry. Shouldn’t have dragged you into this.”

  “Bullshit!” her dad hollered. “She needs help, too, and he”—John pointed to me—“is my only chance. You know that just as well as I do, Tucker!” Then he stormed out after Delilah.

  Tucker looked around the empty kitchen. “Damn.”

  I had no idea there were so many people in the same boat as I. Selfishly, I was relieved not to be alone.

  At my first meeting, without Delilah, chairs sat in a circle so we could all face each other while sharing sad stories. The rented room smelled of coffee and fear. I didn’t share my story that first night, or the next four, but I always attended, hoping I would eventually open my mouth. Surprisingly, no one judged my silence or pushed when I shook my head.

  I wish Lilah were here. Having to do this on my own was not how I wanted it, but it was how it had to be. I had to be as strong as possible for Bailey and be a role model for her healing process.

  One particular night, my mouth finally did open, and once it did, I could not shut it again. I felt as though the people listening to me had somehow become a part of my world through understanding, through the same grief as mine… and through the same tears.

  I wasn’t alone as water dripped uncontrollably from my eyes. The others wiped and dabbed at their tears while quietly listening to me finally letting them in. Gasping, I tried to downplay my trauma. “I know you all have such sad stories, maybe way worse than mine. I’m not sure if I compare, but it hurt. It hurt so goddamn bad. I—I… I… lost my dad.”

  As I sat, nearly bent over in my own lap, the pain crashed through my heart, fresh and raw. The memory of my mom in the same position, when Mr. Ward spoke with her, made me realize her pain.

  It was immeasurable.

  It was devastating.

  It was hell.

  The older woman sitting next to me rubbed my back and said words that made me cry even harder. “I’m so proud of you.”

  Those words unleashed a need I didn’t know I had. “I feel like I’ve let him down.”

  The need was to please my dad.

  More nods of understanding came from the circle of chairs. A man said, through emotions, “When I turned to the bottle, I felt as if I’d failed my daughter, as if I’d tarnished her memory.”

  I wiped my nose as I looked to him, agreeing. “Like all he taught me was a waste because I couldn’t keep his family from sinking. I couldn’t be the man he had hoped me to be.”

  From the moment I finally opened up, waves of irrational emotions rolled through. One session, I couldn’t get past the memory of the night the officers came to my door. That was when the shocking emotion came: anger. Anger that my dad left me.

  Oh God! That made no sense, but I couldn’t stop it. Even though my father had no control over the truck hitting his work vehicle, I wanted him back and was pissed he was gone. I wanted him to finish his fatherly duties then send me off to live on my own. I felt maybe then would be the appropriate time for him to die. Completely wacked in the head was I.

  Delilah and I had begun to argue about the most stupid shit ever. Her dad and brother would sit at their dinner table, completely dumbfounded, as Delilah would yell at me for not liking carrots. “I bet you make Bailey eat them.”

  Angrily, I shoved a carrot in my mouth. “Yep, and I eat them. I just don’t like them.”

  She huffed. “So, what else do you not like?”

  “Sitting here and listening to your crap,” I mumbled.

  Delilah’s jaw dropped.

  “Whoa,” Tucker said in warning.

  I threw my fork down on my plate. “Fuck.” Getting up from my chair, I said, “I’m sorry, baby.”

  Tears started to roll down her sad face as she watched me come to her. “What’s happening to us, Maverick?”

  I pulled her from her chair and held her. “I don’t know; I don’t know.”

  John calmly said, “Another stage of healing. You two will see your way through. Just try harder to be kinder to each other in the process.”

  “Yes, sir,” I told her father then kissed the top of Delilah’s head. “I love you. I apologize for being an asshole.”

  Clinging to me, she nodded. “Me too. I don’t know why I’m being a bitch.”

  As more counseling took place, I got a grip on how I was simply hurt with the abandonment of my dad’s death. But shockingly, I was forced to face another layer of anger. It crept up from a dark, decrepit hole in my heart, one that had been tricky and deceitful. This anger stayed in hiding until it decided to lurk around in my teenage brain, feeding a fire I didn’t know was lit.

  At first, I felt guilt every time I snipped at my mom, making statements like, “No, Bailey doesn’t eat white bread anymore. Only whole grain,” and “No, Bailey has to finish her dinner before she gets her dessert,” and “No, Bailey is to make her bed before she plays on her swing.” “No, she hates McDonald’s.”

  My mom would look wounded when Bailey would ask for my permission. “Mavowick? Can I pway with my paint set?”

  My mom would answer her, “Sure, baby.”

  Bailey would look confused and then wait for my answer. I would tell Bailey, with more guilt, “Yes, but lay down newspaper first so you don’t get paint on the table.”

  It was as if I felt my mom had to learn to become a mom all over again. I wouldn’t let her call the shots. I couldn’t allow her to waltz in and just assume the role she had neglected and walked away from. Every comment or attempt from my mom should have been welcomed. I should have been anxious to be a teenager again, but that was not the case. The more she attempted to reenter our lives, the angrier I became.

  In the kitchen one night, I was packing Bailey’s bag of snacks while I got ready for a meeting with my circle of grievers. My mom said, “Maverick, you don’t need to take Bailey to Jazebelle's. I am more than capable—”

  I yelled, “You haven’t been capable—”

  “Maverick!”

  I looked at Lilah, who was reaching for Bailey and her bag. “We’re going to head over to Jaz’s.” Understandably, she didn’t want Bailey to hear what I felt needed to be released. She kissed my cheek then said good-bye to my mom with a hug. They seemed to have bonded somewhere along the line. Both had lost loved ones.

  Once the front door shut, my mom said, “I know you might be angry at me—”

  “You. Don’t. Know. Shit.”

  My mom took a deep breath. “Maverick, I’m sorry that I got so lost, but I’m back—”

  “So, all is hunky-dory now? Just hand Bailey back over? Don’t think so.”

  She then began throwing anger back at me. “She is my daughter, you know.”

  “See, that’s the thing, Mom. I don’t know that, maybe because you haven’t acted like a mom in recent months.”

  “I’ve been so sad with your dad dying—”

  “And what about Bailey? You don’t think she has been sad? Bailey and I have been on our own, trying to survive not only the loss of one parent but two! YOU LEFT! I didn’t have the luxury to escape my pain with pills.” It was a low blow, but I couldn’t stop myself from spewing out more.

  I ranted on. “I didn’t have time to mourn my dad, because Bailey needed someone. You bailed! Sorry you
fell into a depression, but here’s a news flash: you have a fucking little kid! You don’t have the right to be selfish. That right was taken from you when you delivered an angel into this world, an angel that needed her mother, not a poor excuse of a replacement who happened to be a sixteen-fucking-year-old boy!”

  “You have done a wonderful job with her—”

  “NO! NO! You do not get to play that card with me. You do not get to try and encourage me not to hate you!”

  My breath hitched in shock.

  Did I just tell my mom I hate her? Do I?

  Her eyes closed, but she didn’t run. My mom stood in the kitchen. Her legs might have been weak, but she stayed. After a deep breath, she whispered, “I’m sorry I abandoned you.”

  “Don’t apologize to me. Apologize to Bailey.”

  “I’m sorry… I abandoned you.”

  “I said, to apologize to—”

  Her eyes opened, and her strength came forward. “I’m sorry I abandoned you.”

  Mixed feelings. I was all mixed up. I felt like backing away from the words that were making me so uncomfortable.

  She repeated, “I’m sorry I abandoned you.”

  I was confused. Cautiously, I said, “Stop saying that.”

  “I’m sorry I abandoned you.”

  I was rubbing on my chest, trying to contain something I couldn’t understand. “Stop saying that.”

  “I’m sorry I abandoned you.”

  Sharp, sharp pain started to pulse through my chest. I then realized it was the words she kept repeating. For some reason, those words were causing me such anguish, and that anguish caused me to enter a defensive mode. Through my teeth, I warned her, “Stop. Saying. That.”

  “I’m sorry I abandoned you.”

  I stumbled backward. “Why do you keep—”

  “I’m sorry I abandoned y—”

  “Stop saying that! You abandoned Bailey! Not me!”

  Then, just like that, it hit me: my mom had abandoned me. My mom abandoned… me, too.